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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25299583">Saturation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirthFloor/pseuds/ThirthFloor'>ThirthFloor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Color Blindness, Colors, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs A Nap, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Hopeful/Open Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, M/M, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Possibly Unrequited Love, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg is So Done, no beta we burn like Cintra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:47:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25299583</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirthFloor/pseuds/ThirthFloor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier meets his soulmate when he is a young man, and the world explodes into the most beautiful colours.</p><p>Geralt's senses are damaged due to his Witcher's training. He doesn't see the world the way others do.</p><p>Yennefer gets involved with destiny, and despises it.</p><p>Jaskier loses what he loves.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Wasn't Quite Expecting This (But I Loved It)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I’ve got an aching head,<br/>echoes and buzzing noises.<br/>I know the words we said,<br/>but wish I could have turned our voices down.<br/>This is not black and white,<br/>only organised confusion.<br/>I’m just trying to get it right,<br/>and in spite of all I should have done…”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The summary of each chapter will be a set of song lyrics!! If you would like to set the tone before reading, go ahead and listen to it! Title and artist located in the notes below. (They're clearly not era-relevant, but I went through a lyrics phase with an old band :b)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier was much younger when he met his soulmate, still in school at the time. And not once had they ever talked about what happened between them – if it could really be considered <em>between</em> them. Instead, Jaskier had done what he so often had, by appreciating the colour he saw on his own, in the form of extravagant and reckless shopping sprees.</p><p>Rubbing his fingers over the fine embroidery of a handsome doublet, the glint of golden thread caught his eye. <em>Ah, </em>that was always a familiar sparkle. While blue brought out his eyes and contrasted nicely with the natural tone of his skin and hair, the subtleties of gold had always held a place as a genuine favourite.</p><p>It <em>was</em> the first colour he ever saw.</p><p>Mid-song, bread flying at him, <em>of course</em> he would remember it as if it was yesterday and not a decade ago. Jaskier had spun, to carry his tune throughout the tavern, but also to duck away from a baked projectile, when everything had suddenly snapped into focus. He had practically fallen against one of the supporting beams of the tavern, propping a leg up on a chair in a cheap improvisation for an intended move.</p><p>His vision had warped somehow, everything blurring before honing in on one strikingly obvious change. <em>Those eyes.</em></p><p>Jaskier had never seen what he could only describe as something <em>burning</em> before. Yes, he had seen flame, but it had always just been brighter, paler, a starch white contrasting with the bland variances of shadow that surrounded it. Fire was just another shape, granted it gave off heat and crackled; of course all of the things that made it a unique object in this world – but nothing special had come of the way it truly <em>looked</em>.</p><p>But this, <em>oh</em>, this was an explosion right before him. Eyes, burning a sultry gold – the name of the colour simply popped into his mind, labelling it even as he saw it freshly. They had only met his own for a moment, an ephemeral glance worthy of any pining, longing ballad, before they shifted back to focus firmly on the table before their possessor.</p><p>Fighting his fingers not to stumble over the strings, Jaskier aimed to direct his sloppy serenade at this man, this man with – golden eyes, white hair, black armour and – <em>oh!</em> There was more! Golden light streaming through the window, and through that, a glimpse of the sky. <em>Blue</em>.</p><p>It was then that the Bard truly faltered, twanging sharply on an incorrect chord and being met with a roll of bread smacking directly into the back of his head. He had to stop, had to see what was going on.</p><p>He knew, <em>of course</em> he knew, but to really take it all in was a heftier task than just recognizing the change.</p><p>And so, he’d sauntered over, he’d grabbed the bread and gaped at the new colours – <em>brown, tan, crème – </em>before spinning inelegantly on his heel to face the man.</p><p><em>His soulmate</em> was certainly a looker. Chiseled jaw decorated with stubble, muscles clearly straining even when hidden by thick black cotton and leather clothing. Again, Jaskier gaped at the shock white hair that curled in a kind of cute, ratty way.</p><p>But, <em>oh, </em>the Bard grew weak in the knees at those eyes. Piercing, shining, blazing <em>gold </em>in the dark of the room, so unnatural; and yet, he just wanted to stare. He wanted to see how they would shift, how they would harden or darken with emotion.</p><p>Would they soften with the right words? Would a proper touch cause them to flick down, half-lidded and melted with shadow?</p><p><em>Oops</em>, now they glared fully, and they were a sort of odd shape, too. How stunning. How <em>gorgeous.</em></p><p><em>Oh, bollocks</em>, Jaskier had been staring for two whole minutes. He grabbed a drink with one hand, with the other rubbed his fingers together, feeling the callouses on their tips as a nervous tic, finding fleeting comfort in the familiar patterns. Forcing a cluster of words from his lips, any explanation, any awkward greeting, he stammered out lamely, “I love the way you just… s-sit in the corner and brood.”</p><p>And from there, he started talking more, rambling away clumsily on anything that seemed casual. He asked what he thought of the performance, even though Jaskier knew deep down himself that it was shite. He murmured something stupid, something about the bread rolls currently stuffed into his trousers, but he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop <em>any</em> of it really; words were just falling out faster than he thought, a jumble of incoherency because his attention was focused solely on <em>him</em>. Solely on those eyes.</p><p>Naturally there was an additional giddiness to this whole matter when Jaskier pinpointed the <em>name</em> of his soulmate. Geralt of Rivia, the infamous Witcher, the <em>Butcher of Blaviken</em>.</p><p>This man, downright gorgeous, he was, was supposedly feared by all those around him. He was supposedly dangerous, one who dabbled in magics and tribulations unfit for humans, or any being deemed sane, ordinary and pure.</p><p>All caution out the window, because whether Jaskier would have chosen differently mattered not; this was his fate-bound partner, the half to his whole. He smiled, throughout it all, cheekily or genuinely, softly or smugly. And he got up and followed Geralt when he walked away, stood by him even as he was ignored (<em>oh, he was a broody type</em>), and stole a moment only to dart to the corner of the tavern, snatch up his lute, and be on his way.</p><p>The young Bard was expecting to catch up easily, in no way prepared for the sensory onslaught greeting him as he stepped outside. The instant the blinding light compared to the dim tavern candles had faded, Jaskier’s head was swarming with words, his chest bursting with pure emotion. <em>Green, grass,</em> <em>yes, that’s what that was.</em> <em>Yellow, red, oh was that violet? And orange, and oh! That was a lighter green, and this bridge was a different shade of brown…</em></p><p>Posada was truly more stunning than he had originally given it credit for, the structures rising like peaks of their own on distant hilltops, the rest of the land sprawling with valleys in between. A breathless laugh pushed from his lungs, and Jaskier was grinning ear to ear. His head <em>hurt</em> from absorbing the knowledge, his eyes stinging from all the new sensation – but it was <em>good</em>, it was so <em>good.</em> This was exciting, fresh and new.</p><p>And of course, the cause had all been due to that man – to Geralt of Rivia. His soulmate. His eternal lover. Which meant there was devotion and sharing, and a life to be had. All of that was bound to come too, yes?</p><p>He seemed to be a stubborn one, but not every person was the same. In fact, Jaskier was glad that he didn’t get stuck with an ordinary dolt! The fact that his soulmate was a Witcher, and this one at that, spoke far more of his own character than the mystery man himself. Why, this certainly meant that the Bard had an unquenched wanderlust buried deeply inside, that he had a thirst for adventure he otherwise would not have been able to satisfy on his own.</p><p>This meant so much more than just the transformation of his sight. This meant a transformation in his <em>life</em>. A life lived to its fullest, where he could now be treasured, cherished, relied on – all under the stars and the altering landscapes of the whole continent itself, travelling to collect legendary adventures, journeys like tokens or memorabilia. Jaskier had always told himself that he was destined for so much more, that his passion for the world and the bounds of his curiosity could not be contained.</p><p>There was no more time to sit and ponder it though, as the Witcher had already begun trekking up the path that climbed away from the town structures, off in search of this ‘devil’, or whatever it was plaguing the crop farmers of Upper Posada. Breaking into a light jog, the Bard tore his focus from the sights to see in favour of running after him.</p><p>“Need a hand? I’ve got two. One for each of the, uh, devil’s horns.” Jaskier chuckled ineptly to reintroduce himself, frowning when Geralt didn’t so much as glance his way. This wasn’t ideal behaviour, but was this Bard ever one to give up? Not at all.</p><p>Geralt’s voice was a lovely growl, one that Jaskier had already decided to love the moment its soothing rumbles graced his ears, like ocean waves on rocks: salty and low, dark but strong. “Go away.”</p><p>“I won’t be but silent back-up!” Teasing in his tone, Jaskier protested.</p><p>But a part of him grew worried. Had nothing registered for this Witcher? Had he not experienced such a profound revelation as Jaskier had himself? Not even a furrow of his brow or a fixated direction of his gaze had given the Bard insight as to what Geralt was seeing, but surely the world <em>must</em> have changed for him since they entered and departed that rickety tavern. Surely, the same must have occurred for him.</p><p>At the same time, though, he was a subdued man. He was on a contract, setting out to get paid, so perhaps he was merely adjusting? Getting to know a stranger whilst comprehending an overwhelming amount of perception would be a chore for anyone that wasn’t a raving socialite like Jaskier himself, so perhaps it was not unexpected that the Witcher was choosing to process before diving into conversation. Perhaps he wanted to wait until times were less dire, when he wasn’t as busy, to sit down and really talk it out over a pint of ale, as a celebration for not only their meeting but also their hunt and pay.</p><p>Jaskier understood that completely, and really, it was kind of cute. For all his angst and anger, this Witcher seemed to be an awkward character; timid around others, unsure of how to respond to pushiness at times, electing instead to focus on what he knew best how to do. He had a defined comfort zone, and that was okay, even if it did consist only of glaring, growling, and cursing under his breath.</p><p>Smiling all the same, reassured by his own mental belabouring, Jaskier filled the conversation for them. He insisted on not leaving the Witcher’s side, coming with him, and following in the wild adventures his presence promised, and the fame it would bring to the both of them. They would revel in it together soon enough, surely enough, and all of this would be settled and spoken through in no time.</p><p>Naturally, he hinted at it then, resigning to get to know him first, and thoroughly. “You smell of death, and destiny. Heroics, and heartbreak…”</p><p>“It’s onion.” Was the whole spoken response he earned. That entire time.</p><p>Throughout the years that followed, to Jaskier’s silent dismay, Geralt had never really come around to saying anything more. He never spoke of the colours; he never had an issue picking clothing, what would have been an obvious giveaway, because the Bard would either do it for him, or Geralt would manage to throw together an amalgamation of black linens and dark tones that fit his persona so well that it was never questionable. He never commented on the rising or the setting of the sun, as Jaskier had sometimes tried to offer.</p><p>And the Witcher never inquired about the knowledge that went into Jaskier’s carefully crafted songs, which lamented in the form of poems of colour and allusions to unrequited longing. It was as if he was deaf <em>and </em>blind to all suggestions that his travelling companion was so much more than that…</p><p>It truly made Jaskier wonder, if not about the certainty of Geralt being his partner, then definitely how his heart should accept these notions. They travelled together, spending months at a time on the road and in each other’s company, sometimes intimately or otherwise, and yet Geralt would continue to leave him. Oftentimes to wake alone in a room in an inn, left in some tarnished or despondent village, sometimes a city, but never to share the sunrise.</p><p>Jaskier wanted to talk about sunlight, about how it was gold, too. But he had learned to appreciate it on his own, much like he would constantly watch the movement of a certain pair of eyes, only from afar.</p><p>It was always the Witcher who left, and although hurt at first, the Bard came to understand. A Witcher’s life was dangerous, and while he aspired to withstand it, there was only so often he could go without needing to rest up for weeks at a time until the blisters on his feet and ankles healed, or he regained weight and sleep that had been lost.</p><p>From there it happened that Jaskier simply would not know how to bring the subject to his attention. His chest would ache with yearning as he stared at Geralt across a fire. The words would sit on his tongue, heavy and tasting foul, pestering his thoughts distractingly until he feared bursting, and they would tumble out as so many others did. He almost feared the very <em>act </em>mentioning it, as if it would jeopardize all of the good he had already found in their companionship.</p><p>But here, back in Novigrad, a whole decade passed since their first star-crossed encounter, his mind had been made up. A grown man now, out of Oxenfurt, educated and renowned, this trip to the market was a last dash to purchase clothing. He would soon be packed and ready to depart, returning to life on the road, only this time saying a flippant farewell to the wanderlust that had driven his brighter youth.</p><p>On a mission of his own now, Jaskier knew he would be following his Witcher once again. And this time, he would find a way – not only to confront him on his condemning silence all these years, but also to confess for his own reluctance. This would be mended, this would be solved, and they would continue on in their world as the pair they were destined to be, rather than two halves circling aimlessly.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter Summary; Lyrics from "Invisible" by Linkin Park.</p><p>Thank you all so much for reading!! Leave a comment if you enjoyed it, I read and respond to each and every one!!</p><p>It gets... heavy from here on out. I'm so (not) sorry. :b</p><p>Follow me on Twitter @thirthfloor and Tumblr @aegir-emblem to support my writing and follow updates on future series and fics!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Violet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Water gray, through the windows, up the stairs,<br/>Chilling rain, like an ocean everywhere<br/>Don't wanna reach for me, do you?<br/>I mean nothin' to you<br/>The little things give you away<br/>And now there will be no mistakin'<br/>The levees are breakin'<br/>All you've ever wanted<br/>Was someone to truly look up to you<br/>And six feet under water<br/>I do...?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The summary of each chapter will be a set of song lyrics!! If you would like to set the tone before reading, go ahead and listen to it! Title and artist located in the notes below. (They're clearly not era-relevant, but I went through a lyrics phase with an old band :b)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The djinn was going to kill her. If it wasn’t satiated with Geralt’s wishes, it would claim her as a vessel by means of escape. It would take all the opportunity it had to tear her apart from the inside, slashing to ribbons or just bursting her like a thrashing bubble, disposing of her until there was nothing left. Already beginning to do so, disgusting cracking and snapping noises echoed even above the noise in the room as Yennefer’s posture worsened. Geralt felt the need to turn away, not from the force, the <em>energy</em> coming off the spectacle, but from some innate, instinctual defence he did not know still existed.</p><p>He didn’t want to see what would come of it, did not want to bear witness when red would splatter and decorate the room like some macabre celebration. Cringing away, the Witcher collapsed himself against the nearest wall, bracing as wind whipped his hair about his face in cutting swipes.</p><p>“Damn it, Yennefer, tell me what you want!” Realising he was pleading, Geralt shouted at her, voice raw and spit flying. Putting his hands up only briefly, then lowering them when he decided to <em>look</em>. He would do something, he would fix this, he was going to <em>do </em>something.</p><p>He had seen the look on her face before it came to this state, he had seen the way that violet gaze sparked with a terrifying determination. He had seen that she longed for something so much that nothing could divert her from her path, direct her from her goal.</p><p>And those eyes… the Witcher could not erase that expression from his mind, <em>could </em>not, for long of the future to come. <em>Violet, </em>they commanded.</p><p>Instead, the Mage arched and shrieked back at him, “I want <em>everything</em>!” Slashing her hand, nails now resembling something closer to talons slicing through the air, a force of chaos crashed Geralt against a wall, making his head spin just enough for his vision to flare, a painful throb. The colours around him then glared brighter, the edges of objects more defined and sharper.</p><p>He shook his head once, twice, scrubbing the heel of one hand over his own eyes, golden, to order them into focus, and then snapped his attention back to her. She was nearly doubled over backwards, and even from here where he lie on the floor, he could see the change of her stare.</p><p>Blood red, a scarlet that only ever arrived with menace and ill tidings, something terrible shone in them. Practically glowing, without a pupil to direct their gaze, it was the colour that captivated the Witcher so easily. Such a contrast from the soft violet he had considered calling <em>beautiful</em> before – a word that would rarely grace his tongue – Geralt was momentarily enraptured. It could have been from warning or else.</p><p>And looking upon it all, the Witcher knew that something must be done, and soon. <em>What did she truly desire? </em>He needed to conjure something to wish for her, something that would satisfy her well enough to stay away from harmful curses, if only for awhile – something that he could grant her, that wouldn’t come around to cost her.</p><p>It was a simple realization, one that came so quickly compared to some of the epiphanies and shifts that had occurred in the past. This came in seconds, as Geralt met her scarlet, unseeing gaze. She wanted <em>power, </em>but in the form of something no one else had; Yennefer wanted an advantage above all others, something that she could always prize as her own and hold above or against her rivals, as if any being could ever come close. She wanted something of complete independence, something that could be her own without relying on anyone but herself, without blaming or seeking approval or questioning anyone or anything else. Something that made her <em>complete</em>, something that made her <em>enough.</em></p><p>So perhaps, by sharing this strange beauty, this unique sense of tranquility through sight, Geralt could gift that to her. He could offer her the world in all its glory, all its beauty and true ugliness in between. He would not admit aloud the calming effect seeing the spectrum of hues brought him by means of the natural world, but it was an undeniable feeling when even the most violent of adrenaline surges could be subdued by deep breaths and focus.</p><p>The idea of granting Yennefer this – this <em>blessing</em> – seemed to be his best option, the clearest choice for how he could help her. He wanted to give her that peace of mind, however she may need it and if only for a moment…</p><p>And so Geralt whispered, unable to raise his voice against the rushing wind and thunderous volume of chaos and anger in the room. He spoke under his breath, but knew very well that the djinn would hear his wish as if it were amplified by a thousand cries.</p><p>“I wish to share them, the colours. I wish to share these colours with Yennefer.”</p><p>When things snapped to a standstill, the Witcher had only enough of a moment to see the golden rays of sunlight coming through the ceiling of the house, as cracks formed and the beams caved in on them.</p><p>~</p><p>Jaskier was hollering borderline incoherently at the elf when it came to a halt. He knew they must go in, he knew something <em>bad </em>was happening in that house. He saw it in the way the structure trembled, dust and crumbled stone drifting into the air with each brutal tremor. He felt the way the ground jumped when something either shattered or shifted. Most of all, he heard the <em>noise</em>, that terrible, constant rushing that made it feel like his head was spinning. A residual, phantom pain ached at the base of his throat from just the thought of what could be happening up there.</p><p>Chireadan had told him<em> no</em>, had begged him not to run into that building, even as the two stood frozen in grotesque awe while the scene before them escalated irreparably. Jaskier rubbed his fingers together, only for a second before he made up his mind. That was his <em>soulmate</em> in there, that was <em>his</em> Witcher, that was <em>Geralt</em> in there. And that should have been the only thing that mattered from the start of it. That should have driven him inside the moment Geralt pushed past him.</p><p>“I’m going in, I don’t care what happens, I’m going.” The Bard gulped, his throat clicking with the motion, dry and hoarse. “I have to, he’s still in there.”</p><p>“No, you can’t!” Chireadan reached out and gripped his upper arm, slender fingers locked tightly around the firm muscle that lie beneath his tarnished, bloodied shirt. “They won’t make it out, especially if you anger the creature more! Geralt would not <em>want </em>you to follow, he went in there because <em>she</em> saved <em>you</em>!”</p><p>“And when’s the last time I did something that Geralt actually wanted!? Don’t answer that, as if you’d know. Point being!” Jaskier yanked on his arm, desperate, angry, a heated flush of adrenaline spiking from his gut and making his skin burn. And above all, there was a deeply rooted, suckling fear making his movements tremble, so that he would not still.</p><p>Before he could fully free himself from the elf’s grip, a bold mid-march forward, there was a tremendous roar, a ferocious crashing that was enough to knock them both off their feet. Jaskier’s legs buckled, and he crumbled onto his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes shut as tears prickled at them, waiting for the ruckus to be over. Without knowing what for, he braced himself, perhaps waiting for rubble to fall around them, or for a cry to be heard.</p><p>When the Bard cracked an eye open to peek out at the damage, he was too stunned to scream. All that slipped forth was a strangled little sound, a whimper pitiful enough to be of a newborn. “<em>Oh.</em> Oh, no…”</p><p>He bothered not to sit upright, to rise to his feet, because he was now shivering from spine to the tips of his fingers. Without control, nerves alight, he was shaking, and lurched into a hopeless motion, feeling the dirt ground beneath him, fingers brushing over his clothing, wandering up to touch his cheeks and tug at his hair. Finally, he sat back and let them rest in his lap, looking down as tremors wracked his body, made him feel light and cold and sickly.</p><p>His hands were pale. Oh, so pale. White, pure white like soft linens left in the sunlight by housewives doing the daily laundry. The lines between the edges of his quaking fingers blurred, not much definition between them and now the hideous, smoky grey of his trousers. Jaskier stole a glance down at the front of his undershirt; the bloody stain there that used to be so brightly red, like roses, was now a charcoal smear.</p><p>“Oh, <em>no…</em>” He moaned softly, the tears that had pricked his eyes before now welling up into warm droplets, but refusing to fall. “Oh, gods.” Looking about, searching for any sign that he was mistaken, any marking that it wasn’t true, Jaskier held back those same tears. He couldn’t afford to have the moisture obscuring his vision, not at a time like this. He felt the ground, crawling over to the side of the path to run his fingers through the blades of grass within his reach.</p><p>“Are you alright, Bard? Did something harm you?” Chireadan rushed to his side, a healer’s instinct being well over the qualifications to recognize that something was wrong with this snivelling, meandering young man. Something was <em>very</em> clearly wrong, as he just kept crying out softly as he felt things, namely the ground and his fine albeit torn clothing. He hadn’t even glanced upwards to see the real wreckage.</p><p>Jaskier looked then, just as Chireadan knelt beside him. One hand rose to grip at the elf’s sleeve, in a gesture that could be for support just as well as it could convey his urgency. “They’re dead. They – they must be. They can’t have survived that.”</p><p>“Perhaps they are not, we have not searched the structure yet. There is a chance that they made it. Come, we can look…” Chireadan’s gaze was morphed with sympathy, his own dread buried beneath his pity for the Bard, who would give up on his friend, and the mage who saved his very life, so easily. “You cannot know for certain, not yet.”</p><p>“But I do!” Jaskier spat out, shaking the elf by his overcoat. “Geralt of Rivia, that <em>man</em>, that <em>Witcher</em>, was my soulmate!” <em>Oh. </em>It hurt, it tore his flesh from the inside out even as he spoke the words, reality settling in as the cruel mistress she was. “I saw colour, and now it’s – it’s – it’s all gone! He’s dead, this is proof, and I… I can’t see them anymore. I’ve lost… both.”</p><p>And he blurted it so suddenly that it took them both by surprise. Jaskier’s eyes widened, horrified, as tears finally spilt and stained his cheeks with their clear sentence. Chireadan’s sharp, defined elven features softened with sorrow, with realization of his mistake only seconds ago, for he had not himself witnessed the change that could come to his monochromatic life; but with a pain so apparent to the man before him, such a feeling could not go unimagined.</p><p>“All the more reason to enter, and find what remains. Do to… well, have the deed done well.” The elf murmured, raising the Bard to his feet and leaving him to circle the building. “It was only the upper levels to be destroyed, who knows of the lower…”</p><p>He need only to round the ragged corner and peer through a window, pointed ears quirking as a quickly surprised, livened smile split his face. There they lie, on the ground at the center of a cluster of furniture and fallen tapestries. And they were… well. Chireadan turned away, his grin unable to falter for a moment more, as he called back to Jaskier, who lagged behind. “They’re actually alright, Bard! They’re…”</p><p>A dark look passed over his brow, although the Bard’s expression lightened up in exchange as he scrambled to be at his side, to see for himself. They were alright, yes, but then what did that mean for this man who was so sure of the opposite? If they lived, then why had his very vision altered?</p><p>Momentarily, Jaskier was suddenly overjoyed, rushing to the window. And it was true, they were alive, both of them! There on the floor, lying together and… moving together, and… Jaskier could only comment bluntly, hoarsely, sardonically. “Oh. They’re <em>really</em> alive.”</p><p>His face fell a thousand miles, his heart broke into a thousand pieces, the reaction could be pinpointed down to the very instant of its emergence. But his vision stayed the same, and there they were, right in the center of it all. A mess of black and white and grey, a cluster tumbling, rolling, arching together like the churning of a violent storm. And thunder rumbled as Jaskier suddenly felt ill to his stomach, almost keeling over had he not thrown a hand up to the wall to support himself.</p><p>It was so blatant, what had then occurred, since it was true enough that they were alive. Namely, Geralt was still living. So that must mean only… that must mean… he must have wished to…</p><p>“Bard, come away. Do not linger. Do not stare.” Chireadan was there with a restrained urgency, pulling him away from the window with strong arms Jaskier would not have attributed to the elf. His gaze still followed, chasing after the sight through the glass as if a single glance hadn’t been torture enough. As if it wasn’t answer enough, that Geralt had clearly…</p><p>Clearly wanted so much more than what he could offer. This whole time.</p><p>Chireadan was speaking again, although the sound barely registered through the howling in the Bard’s ears, the torment now emanating from his heart, seeping and oozing like a poison into his senses. He stood directly in front of him, talking in feeble attempts to snap him out of his daze, to understand and aid. “Are you… Are they truly gone?”</p><p>Buzzing, numbly, Jaskier nodded. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, strain held only in his eyes, now dry and darkened from high on his cheekbones. Despite it all, a smile still came to be the easiest gesture worn. “It’s alright. I don’t even… Honestly, I don’t even know if it was him. He never said a word, you know that? Never once gave me any clue as to what he could be seeing. It was the one thing I really felt like I couldn’t figure out. I was probably wrong.”</p><p><em>Oh</em>, but how could he be wrong? It all happened together, no accursed amount of coincidence would ever be that cruel to him, unless he had genuinely done something to spite Destiny itself. Which as far as he was concerned, for all his fooling about and taunting the challenges of fate, nothing had ever carried a cost that severe.</p><p>“No, no, no,” Chireadan mumbled when Jaskier attempted to look over his shoulder, to look back and see again the assurance that was breaking him in two. The elf took two slender fingers to his chin, tilting the Bard’s face back to focus on his own, for any delay or distraction it might bring.</p><p>Jaskier at last gulped quietly, surprised at the lack of tears in his eyes now. The lack of… feeling <em>anything</em>, really. No good. No ballads of heartbreak could come from feeling nothing at all. He would have to really push to think of language to describe this one, for this was... “When they get out, tell Geralt I said thanks? For saving my life back there.”</p><p>This pain was insurmountable, indescribable. Quite literally, blinding.</p><p>Chireadan’s expression was puzzled. “Well, do you not want to-”</p><p>“Just thank him for the djinn thing.” Feeling like he was coughing the words out, forcing them through clenched teeth, or a swollen throat, Jaskier closed his eyes briefly. “Tell him I’m heading off, that it was good to see him. If you have to say more, mention a gig, or an impatient Countess or something. He won’t care.”</p><p>Another sad tilt of the head. “I’m sure he would, if you gave him the chance to hear what you need to tell him this time… When you appear to babble, this time these words carry such heavy significance.”</p><p>But Jaskier was already on his way, sauntering off from what he wanted so desperately to stand by, leaving behind what he yearned to come close to. He felt as if he were being pushed away, unwanted, rejected, all in perfect right and sense.</p><p>“No, it’s alright, I’m through.” He paused only once more to call back over his shoulder, although <em>call</em> was a bold term for the weak whisper of his voice. “He might actually rest afterwards. That’s what he wanted, you know? Sleep. From the djinn. That’s all he really wanted. Or, so I thought.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter Summary; Lyrics from "The Little Things Give You Away" by Linkin Park!</p><p>Again, thank you so much for reading!! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it (or didn't)!! I respond to each and every one, and would love to hear what you guys have to say about this one!!</p><p>It hasn't been as popular as my other Witcher fics, even though this story is longer and I've been planning it longer, so any feedback or comments at all would be wonderful!!</p><p>I'll see you all soon in chapter three! Love you to death!!</p><p>Twitter @thirthfloor ; Tumblr @aegir-emblem</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Grey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Sometimes solutions arent so simple,<br/>sometimes goodbye’s the only way…<br/>and the sun will set for you,<br/>and the sun will set for you…<br/>And the shadow of the day will embrace the world in grey,<br/>and the sun will set for you…”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The summary of each chapter will be a set of song lyrics!! If you would like to set the tone before reading, go ahead and listen to it! Title and artist located in the notes below. (They're clearly not era-relevant, but I went through a lyrics phase with an old band :b)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The thing that truly hurt the most was not the lack of colour. The monochromatic view was something he could go back to, something he had learnt to deal with; if Jaskier couldn’t live without colours, then how had he made it almost two decades before finding them?</p><p>He could do it. It was fine. Losing them was… fine.</p><p>Truly, the worst part wasn’t their absence at all, but the fact that he never got to enjoy what they represented, the shift in one’s life that such beauty encapsulated… the reason they came to be. He almost felt as if he’d never <em>had</em> a soulmate, or the opportunity to share such inexplainable unity.</p><p>Just a close friend, a best friend, if even that.</p><p>He had seen parts of Geralt that no one else had, he had been witness to so many insecurities, tendencies, momentary flickers of actions and expressions that no other was present for. Hell, they had held each other at twilight when the chill of an ordinary night began to creep in, when animals tiptoed over the forest floor and their fire crackled weakly. And they had done the same on occasion, in warmer beds in shitty inns and decent ones, always unspoken, with things always left unsaid. That was how they were, that was how close they were… But never more than that. Whatever intimacy they shared lacked a wholistic meaning, a significance satisfying in the temporary but never in the eternal.</p><p>Always, always only <em>friends</em> it seemed. Nothing more special than that, when fairly it <em>should</em> be.</p><p>Jaskier had prospered from the songs as best as he could, when his affections were left wanton and wanting. Crafting songs both skillfully or sloppily, jigs and ballads centered around attempting to form what he witnessed into words, he made something of it. It was a challenge that filled his time, when staring off into sunsets alone did not satiate the bursting passion they brought to his life. Or when his descriptions fell flat on the ears of another lonely, passing lover.</p><p>Such an epiphanic change was supposed to complete the soul, that was the point of <em>finding</em> one’s <em>soulmate</em>. He had met the one that belonged to him, completed him, and therefore gave him a very sense of harmony. It was supposed to give him all he needed to live his life to the fullest, to have no regrets, to really feel no fear of the unknown. It was supposed to give him… everything.</p><p>Yet such regret, such lonesomeness, such apprehension was all that carried in this time, evermore enlarged by an underlying, whispering bitterness.</p><p>Jaskier had been granted such a joy through sight, but his heart still lay heavy, as heavy as something so empty could be. The fickleness of that joy was what caused the pain, the pity. Because Geralt had never wanted him, had broken his soul away from Jaskier, the Bard knew it was no longer fair to even hope for such unity again. It would never happen, and here he was, isolated.</p><p>A lone being, a soul and consciousness forever wandering, desolate to the end of his days as he was cast aside. Jaskier had a desire for adventure, a longing to see the world and meet the people in it, to change with his words and to heal with them too, when he could. But feeling lost, as if he were searching for something he would never find, made the desire wane and wither. It seemed… frivolous, insignificant, fleeting. Especially since he knew now that he had found that <em>something</em>, only to have it leave him.</p><p>The Bard looked back towards the Witcher, who was sitting by the fire even as most of the company had gone to rest for the evening. The coming days promised of things far more dangerous, of dragons and rewards, and many were eager for sleep to bring it sooner. But Geralt, he continued to watch the flames before him, his expression relaxed in a meditative state.</p><p>The fire was a twisting mixture of white and grey, hot but visually not suggesting so. Jaskier remembered a time, a twinge of pain singeing through his chest, when he had seen the gold, the red, the orange licks of similar flames, many times in the fireplaces of many inns, or at their own makeshift campsite in some dark wood. He remembered the first time he saw something that he would consider akin to them, something <em>burning</em>.</p><p>Of course, it was Geralt’s eyes. It always was, the very sight that sparked a blaze in his heart that would not go out, fanned to grow by sorrow and loneliness. And looking at the fire behind him now, Jaskier’s gaze dragged upwards, watching those very eyes. From afar, as he had been learning to do best.</p><p>Grey. Matching the flames before him, so supposing they could still be compared. But without the colour, they were much more harmless than what the heat of the fire could bring. They were the same, but the Bard still knew the truth. They were blazing, burning, not this muted, stilled, silenced grey. Only now, he could no longer see that.</p><p>Jaskier turned away from the camp, leaning against a pine with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He had read somewhere that the motion was a self-comforting technique, often misinterpreted as a gesture to close oneself off from others. At this time, Jaskier would offer props to both stances, as he sheltered from the view of the campsite and held himself, hoping to hold whatever he felt inside. Put a lock on those feelings, whatever they really were, because letting them out here would be nothing but trouble.</p><p>The light on the horizon was quickly fading behind the mountain range, the brightest shade right at the peaks, growing darker as Jaskier’s gaze stretched upwards. He was distracted, then easily startled when a hand lightly touched his elbow. The Bard jumped, letting out a soft yelp followed closely by a swear.</p><p>“Watching the sunset, are we?” Yennefer always had a stony look about her, her posture proud and her jawline set. She was guarded, reserved, and perhaps that unreachable quality, the image of her high on a pedestal, was what made her so beautiful. Jaskier relaxed just a little, but something along his brow twitched jealously.</p><p>Sarcastically quipping, an excuse came as easily as if it were the truth. “If I still could. Can’t a man just stand and brood?” Briefly thinking of the very one who caused this, the exposition, the climax and now the sad, bitter resolution, Jaskier’s flimsy attempt at a smile reflected the adjective of the ending. “An artist must <em>think</em>, must <em>ponder</em> to make something of worth. Inspiration comes from a source to have meaning, as is the trade you know. Some like that blasted Marx can’t figure that out, and this is how I can best them. Oh, but in Marx’s case, I best him in basically any other venture.”</p><p>Yennefer nodded, breathing an <em>ah</em> of faux understanding, at least in the case of who this Marx character was, anyways. She understood better than most the logic behind working with one’s own devices and methods to best those around her, of course she did. <em>Everything</em> had come from such a focus.</p><p>But this was a calm meeting, one of simple small talk, although she had a tingling inquiry lying restless in her mind.</p><p>The Mage took a moment to recall what she knew of <em>this</em> Bard, of his songs and career across the Continent. He was well-known, for sure, his fame brought on years earlier from his iconic recounts of the adventures of the Witcher. People loved him as the artisan for those pieces, and the sound of his voice when delivering them was nothing to dismiss, either. But she <em>had</em> heard rumours, conversation that his most recent crafts had taken on a woeful, sorrowful tone. And not in the needy, pining way that most ridiculous ballads did, but in a genuine display that captivated his audience despite the lonesome message.</p><p>He still had his jigs and catchy tunes, but it was clear to those that sat through a night’s performance and heard one or two of these rare bores that he had found a new muse elsewhere. Yennefer herself had never heard him play, although there had been times when the two had been in the same location. She’d avoided him, then, and now standing aside him, wondered if it was a wise or irrational decision to never truly make his acquaintance.</p><p>Geralt didn’t seem the type to put up with someone who was naturally this cynical, a Bard least of all. And the Witcher had been so concerned for his safety in that house, confused if they were even friends and missing altogether that his actions betrayed that of a couple who had already crossed over that stage.</p><p>He must have been something special, he must <em>be</em> something special, for even Geralt to get it through his thick skull that he was worth caring for.</p><p>But if that was the case, then why did this Bard leave so immediately? Chireadan had confirmed his departure once the house collapsed, gaze turned to the side in something a little more profound than guilt. Surely, as he had meant so much to Geralt, Jaskier did not seem the type to turn and go without saying goodbye. But he had, and now something rooted, sickly sweet in Yennefer’s gut, bruised with worry.</p><p>She waited a moment to be sure her voice remained nonchalant when she asked. “Like your outfit? What message are those clashing tones sending your devotees?”</p><p>Jaskier visibly <em>cringed</em>, his shoulder scrunching upwards as if to turn away, to shield himself from her accusation, and that was all the answer she needed. His lips parted as an awkward laugh slipped out before words. “Forgive me, I could only cross my fingers and hope these were grey undergarments. I’m guessing they’re not, then?” He fell silent when she shrugged, chewing his lip in a defeated embarrassment. “I at least <em>think</em> the jacket and pants are red.”</p><p>She pursed her lips to contain her breath, whether she release a gasp or a sigh. The Mage had set out to discover why this Bard tagged along, what it was about him that appealed himself so strongly to a man such as Geralt, but instead, she feared to have uncovered something more. Like turning over a log to find something rotting, to turn over a stone to find insects, she had meant for simplicity and instead discovered something far more complicated, far more worrisome. The amount of unsettlement that lie with her now would not take its leave soon, it appeared.</p><p>Yennefer looked back to the campfire, turning this change of events over in her mind. If he knew the names of the colours, he had then seen them before; but his disappointment, his fumbling… He was no longer able to. Such a loss was only supposed to come with one in equal measure, in another loss just as grand and groundbreaking: the death of a soulmate. As was the legacy that followed the sorrowful songs, that spoke of colours unseen – and only few who heard genuinely understood their meaning.</p><p>The Mage looked at the Witcher, and something in her her heart sank a little. She was not the person one would attribute to feel sympathy, and she often prided herself in her distance from such care for others she barely knew, who cared naught for her and vice versa. But this felt… wrong. This was toying with a divine pulse, this was something imbalanced, a power that should not be within the hands of even the most powerful wielders of chaos or science. It was <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>Turning back to the Bard, a thin smile was offered, an understanding tease. “Very red. And the underclothes are dark green. It’s… festive.”</p><p>“Ah. Well, fuck.” A long sigh, like something deflating, but deciding to for itself. “Let them think it’s a statement then. I’ll own my appearance wholeheartedly, make it sexy, you know? I can be festive, I can show this off. And plus, no one will know. And if they <em>do</em>, it’s none of their damned business.” He offered a wry smile, one that didn’t curve and crease the edges of his eyes with mirth. His smile was sour, like a lemon.</p><p>Yennefer felt sorry for him. Something that had already confounded her now made a cruel sense. She stood in silence, and he did too, both turning their gaze outward to avoid each other and their forced commonality. “You’re… good, Bard. Irritating, but not every tall and clumsy musician would follow someone like this, especially on something like a dragon quest.”</p><p>“You’re fucking right, you can bet <em>Valdo Marx</em> wouldn’t do anything close to this.”</p><p>She chuckled softly, still wondering who exactly this character was and with what competitive spite drove him constantly into Jaskier’s mind. “I’m sure he wouldn’t. But he seems the type to plagiarize, so good luck. Although… I mean it, I do. You have a devotion that I would not expect of someone like you. Take it as a compliment or an insult.”</p><p>“Call it wanderlust, dear Yennefer. Sometimes a man has a different type of urge.” And there was such a melancholy in his words, a wistful agony like smoke, or mist slipping through the fingertips of the morn. This poet must have a more than just a way with them, because even a small, stowed part of the beautiful Mage felt swayed with pity.</p><p><em>I’m sure he does,</em> she thought, once again, for the last time this evening, turning to look at Geralt. He was entirely alone in the campsite now, still seated by the fire and gazing into it, enthralled in a peaceful, deep introspection. Seeming to notice her gaze, those golden eyes briefly turned upwards and focused on Yennefer, a softness in them that remained relaxed when usually he would guard himself under the watch of another. And something stopped in Yennefer, a shift driving hard in her gut.</p><p>A newfound source of discomfort. Not disgust, although something soured at the back of her throat. No, this was more of an unexplainable frustration. It seemed apparent what he had done, it made sense now – for how could they truly be such a pair? They were too similar, different just in the ways that could have made them match. A foil to each other’s character? No, they complimented, bolstered what was already there. They did not fill gaps together.</p><p>How? How could this have happened. And why? Why did he <em>let</em> it happen? Why did <em>she</em> let it happen? As if she had a choice, when perhaps neither of them did. But fate was a cruel bitch, and something had caused her to knot and twist.</p><p>A certain wish, perhaps. A selfless wish turned terribly selfish.</p><p>~</p><p>Yennefer had never really intended to confront Geralt on the matter, but considering they had just killed numerous men together, protected a dragon and paid off dwarves, she figured they’d been through enough to at least have a talk. And there was something about the way they’d worked together, the closeness she felt and he seemed to mirror… It wasn’t something she wanted to allow to linger. At least with whatever weight lie on her conscious from her conversation with the Bard.</p><p>She stood beside him on the mountaintop, the crisp wind brushing her hair back from her shoulders, like a careful touch tucking the loose strands away. Geralt stood in silence, but the stiff rise in his shoulders so typical of his posture was not present; his breaths were small, even, calm, and his stance demonstrated as such. Yennefer did not feel equal ease in his company, instead a guarded wariness for the truth of the frequency and meaning of each and every of their past meetings.</p><p>“What do you see out there, Witcher?” Her voice came out gently like the gales that surrounded them, mere whispers of the wind in smooth, cool cadence.</p><p>He turned to her with a smile, a soft one that was so handsome and so rare, and it curdled her blood. <em>That smile should be for the Bard, for his friend. His soulmate.</em> “The sky is less blue today. It’s nice when the clouds cover it, then I can look at it without it being so… glaring.”</p><p>“I can’t disagree,” the Mage tilted her head, carefully choosing which words to use. This wasn’t going to end nicely, but it had been <em>going</em> nicely for long enough. Nothing that is gold can stay, and gold was warm. Silver was cold, and it was coming. She would bring it head-on herself. “I prefer it when the clouds are darker, when a storm is approaching. Do you know why, Geralt?”</p><p>The Witcher tilted his head, turning to face her. Genuine curiosity flickered across his face, looking so soft. “Why?”</p><p>She took a breath, holding his lovely gaze and hardening her own. “Because even though I can see the colours that have been brought to me, the hues and shades of the clouds as they stir, it still comes back to black and grey when the storm really hits.”</p><p>The change was immediate, for once he seemed to <em>get</em> it from the moment the words left her lips. Or something, at least, because he rolled his shoulders back and they stayed risen. His jaw clenched from habit, only this expression he bore was not one of a fighter; he looked more as though he would like to shrink away, or just run altogether. But speaking no response, instead the Witcher retreated to the silence that made him threatening to most, meek to some elect. It was comfortable, a midground without outright blame.</p><p>“With the djinn. You wished these colours for me, <em>didn’t</em> you?”</p><p>He stood still, but the way his eyes shifted, then locked on her own was as if he had just been backed into a corner. Yet, there was a confusion first and foremost in them, a questioning as to why this was happening, a naivety to the situation in its whole. “Yes, I thought…” Frustrated, Geralt ground his teeth and grumbled. Words were a fight. “Your eyes. They were… everything. I could see them, all of them, the colours… but I wasn’t ready to see you.”</p><p>She snorted, closing her eyes instead of rolling them. This descriptive endeavor was certainly not something in his reserve.</p><p>“It became too much when I saw you.” Another grunt to challenge his discomfort. “I thought… maybe, if I shared them, whatever burden you carried would be lessened. I didn’t know… at the time, that you wanted to be a mother. I didn’t know what else I could do for you. And my own, my own… struggle, with these colours has not changed, but… they are quite pleasant, aren’t they?”</p><p>Mentally, a brief passing thought, Yennefer agreed. She did. She loved the colours, she thrived in their beauty; but he didn’t <em>understand</em>. They were <em>stolen</em>. She loved something that did not belong to her, and that made it feel worse, feel wrong, feel terrible. She was jealous of the very thing she possessed, a burning jealousy that coursed through her as familiar as it did days long ago when she had so little. The revival of the feeling caused a deep scowl to curl her lovely lips. “<em>Oh</em>, but you had already shared them. Are you really that selfish to not have realized? Do you know what you have done?”</p><p>Even as she spoke it, she knew there was never a way he could possibly have known the depths of his actions. And if he <em>did</em>, and still knew what he had done?</p><p>“I meet lots of people, Yen, it could have been anyone along the way.” Although a fair conclusion, it was <em>wrong</em>. Yennefer knew it was. He said it so plainly too, a fact decided on much earlier than the current conversation. Geralt looked away from her, out at the horizon he had only just been admiring. “Whoever it was, though, I pity them. I’m not fit for a soulmate.”</p><p>“You don’t get to decide that.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes, a sardonic smile slipping onto his features, self-deprecating and weary. “Yen. Really? Whoever Destiny found fit to <em>match</em> with me, for <em>me</em> to complete them… they must be a truly poor, damaged person. Any pity I have would be for them.” The Witcher exhaled, a dragged-out breath that could have been a scoff had it any force.</p><p>But Yennefer, she <em>scoffed</em>. Bitterly, spitefully, her own breath that had been contained since he began speaking, let out in one rush. “You shouldn’t be one to judge them. And you shouldn’t have been able to <em>decide</em>, because you had already <em>met</em> the one who matched you. It wasn’t supposed to be me, Geralt, and by trading their gift to me instead, something that wasn’t really yours to give… You robbed them of that. You <em>took </em>that from them.”</p><p>“What does it matter?” Growling, Geralt was hurt. He had been grounded in his acceptance, and now it was being thrown back in his face. Well, good. Yennefer was no thief. She deserved each and everything she had, she <em>earned </em>it. She didn’t steal. “I already said I didn’t know, and at this point, this much time passed, should I really care? Yen.”</p><p>“Should you?” Violet stared right into his soul, those very eyes so beautiful, sharp, cutting amethyst. They cut into Geralt in scarlet, ruby stripes, lashing out with merely a look that settled something foul in his gut. Geralt growled again, baring himself for whatever this threat was, for he was so very unnerved by the truth she was bound to reveal. “I wonder should even <em>they</em> care, now that they’ve heard it all? How you apparently cared not, didn’t want them, and all without feeling the slightest bit sorry. I wonder if you’ll feel sorry now without anyone at all.”</p><p>“Yen…” Geralt’s own piercing gaze, surprisingly softened in his anger, followed the Mage as she left him with naught another look. She marched up the small trail, out of reach and towards the light of the setting sun, not slowing in her retreat. Her dark hair thrashed in the wind, as if the strands were reaching back to him.</p><p>She passed red, bright red. Jaskier stood just a few feet away, watching. Having witnessed its entirety, he looked now to Geralt with an expression that betrayed every little thing he could be feeling at once. He was shattered, and ironically, everything shifted into place for the Witcher the moment he saw it. It startled him how sorry he suddenly felt. But it was undeniable: Geralt fucked up, had done so terribly and cruelly, and boiling anger grew hotter with burning shame.</p><p>
  <em>All this time, it had been…?</em>
</p><p>“ ‘A truly poor, damaged person’?” Jaskier rubbed his fingers together, searching for the familiar callouses crafted by decades of singing this very Witcher’s praises. He hurt. Everything hurt, and it was sorely, sorely uncomfortable. It wasn’t lingering sorrow, as he would have expected, for what he heard were merely facts he had considered so many times before himself. Hearing it spoken only locked the door to a room he had long since entered.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt begged, but no matter how hard he tried, his voice would not raise. It remained flat, dead, cold and cruel. Fuck. <em>Fuck</em>. He was slipping away, he was drifting away, he was getting away and <em>fuck</em>, Geralt couldn’t move. He couldn’t think.</p><p>His eyes widened, his body froze. And dammit, he knew like the fate of a man condemned to die, he knew he could not reach out in time to save this now.</p><p>Jaskier shook, a full-bodied tremble like a leaf in the wind ready to collapse. He clenched his fists, ceasing that monotonous, obsessive tic with his fingers, and offered a quivering, waning smile. “Well, I guess we’ve both really done it now.”</p><p>And Geralt was helpless to watch as Jaskier looked him over. Jaskier glanced over the Witcher, in all his grey and black, the shades as true and constant as if he were seeing the real colours for himself. But of course, the highest appeal was missing, in the absence of that stunning gold. The only thing missing was a minute detail, a simple thing so easy to ignore and cast aside. And yet, how <em>much </em>he would trade if only to see it again. To see them all again.</p><p>He didn’t know, but in that moment, Geralt would sooner have laid down his life to give them back and right his despicable wrongs than leave things as they were, as they had been changed and damaged and severed.</p><p>But that wouldn’t happen, it could not, for fate itself had been swapped with words. So, was it worth to stay if all was lost? No reward lie here for the Bard.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter Summary; Lyrics from "Shadow of the Day" by Linkin Park! This was the song that inspired the entire fic!!</p><p>If you enjoyed, please leave a comment! I love to hear from you guys, and I respond to each and every one!!</p><p>... oof. This chapter was much longer than the previous ones!!</p><p>Well, loves, we're almost done. One more chapter to go. I'm sorry for hurting you all. I promise it'll be okay.*soft kiss to make it better*</p><p>Also I love Yennefer of Vengerberg. I just... I do. And I love Jaskier. And I... reluctantly for this story, love Geralt. But I really do. &lt;3 Ugh. I love them all.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“When you suffered it all<br/>And your spirit is breaking<br/>You’re growing desperate from the fight<br/>Remember your love<br/>And you always will be<br/>This melody will always bring you right back home<br/>When life leaves us blind<br/>Love, keeps us kind<br/>When life leaves us blind<br/>Love keeps us kind<br/>It keeps us kind...”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The summary of each chapter will be a set of song lyrics!! If you would like to set the tone before reading, go ahead and listen to it! Title and artist located in the notes below. (They're clearly not era-relevant, but I went through a lyrics phase with an old band :b)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt was grateful for his blessing. Seeing colours was something that grew on him every day, bringing fleeting feelings of joy, of curiosity, whenever he would spot something new. It could be a new flower or weed, some niche item in shop from a passing town, or something as vast and magnificent as a sprawling sunset, or the way the sky could sometimes be numerous different shades all at the same time. He wasn’t poetic, but there was a refined sense of tranquility that came with the colours, how they changed and faded with the light of day, and would be there again in the morning.</p><p>Even more so, he began to pay attention. He began to memorise them, to try and describe them silently to himself, to remember what they were like even when he closed his eyes for a moment of rest. They maintained a comforting presence.</p><p>This sense, this feeling of benediction, replaced the reverence he had for his sense of smell. Smell was a tool for hunting, one that he had relied on with a dependency that was mistaken for such a gift. Yes, it was an advantage, but it was a curse of his Witcher’s training, a prize he didn’t want to earn. It was far from his sight, that of which he had considered a blessing.</p><p>But above all that, even with the sight, even knowing that Yennefer shared it, Geralt knew something was missing. He knew <em>someone</em> was missing, and had confirmed so quickly when spoken to by Borch Three Jackdaws before departing the mountainside. Geralt had swapped the colours of his soulmate with that of a witch who was without need of one, for she had forfeited her binding to the men and women of the material world, as part of her ultimate sacrifice to be reborn.</p><p>So, the absence was not in part to her, but the Witcher’s most loyal companion, the one he had taken for granted so many times.</p><p>He had cost the colours, but nothing else had changed. There was still a man waiting for him, whether he knew it or not; and this time, Geralt was more than eager to let destiny have its way, to guide him to the one he was supposed to have never left alone.</p><p>So, when Geralt walked into the tavern, he was for the umpteenth time, pleasantly surprised at the spectrum of hues he saw even now. In the dimming light of the wooden interior, he could still tell where the golden light of the afternoon sun caught through the windows. He saw how the wood of the tables did not seem to match that of the walls and floors, a little lighter in tone. He saw the clothing of other patrons, which finally led him to what he was really looking for.</p><p>Jaskier, sitting alone in the corner. Alone, and very silent. <em>Oh, </em>that didn’t suit him.</p><p>And he looked <em>miserable</em>.</p><p>But he had expected that. The Witcher knew he had caused this mess, had spent time mulling it over, wallowing in the consequences. No, what really caught Geralt’s eye was something more subtle, that seemed to stand out all the worse.</p><p>Jaskier’s doublet, a lovely dark colour, was probably a shade or two lighter than his trousers. Usually, something as menial wouldn’t matter to Geralt, but this was… clearly not a match. He had noticed the inconsistency first on the mountain, but now he was wiser to what it really represented; not some frivolous, stylistic venture, but a genuine mistake that the Bard couldn’t help but commit.</p><p>He frowned, deeply, that ugly feeling that had brought him here now easily clawing violently at his chest.</p><p>~</p><p>Geralt sat across from him. Jaskier looked down, his eyes fixed to the table. They stayed like that for a few minutes, to a point where the Witcher was almost inclined to say something to make sure Jaskier knew he was there. But his posture was answer enough, so Geralt sat in silence.</p><p>“I can’t do it,” Jaskier finally said. And it was small and broken, lonely and helpless. It was everything the man before him knew, had known for almost the entirety of his long life, and never believed Jaskier could – <em>should</em> – experience.</p><p>The Witcher waited patiently for him to continue, motionless and tense as if he were in hiding; his resignation came both from fear of making it worse, and fear that Jaskier would push him away. He let him continue at his own hushed pace, ready to listen for his cue, if one came at all. He really listened.</p><p>The Bard swallowed thickly, adam’s apple bobbing as he forced down whatever words or feelings were fighting to erupt. “I can’t look at you. Because... I know something there will be missing. And it’s not something wrong with you, it’s something wrong with me. And it’s not my fault, but yours. I just can’t do it.”</p><p>Geralt waited again, this time pensive. He spoke slowly, carefully, bluntly. “Well... I’m looking at you. No one else is looking at us. And...” He paused. Cleared his throat, tried again. “If you were looking, you’d see that I look... terrible. I haven’t slept. I feel like the biggest arsehole on the Continent.”</p><p>“Because you are.” Jaskier quipped, but in a mumble.</p><p>“Okay.” The Witcher’s immediate agreement drew a twitch from his companion, as if he were a deer flicking its ear when disturbed by the cracking of a twig. But it was genuine; he <em>did</em> agree. He was an arsehole, a terrible person. He had conformed down to base insolence, the disregard for the feelings of <em>good</em> people; a Witcher without humanity, just like so many painted him as before Jaskier skipped and danced into his life.</p><p>Geralt waited yet again, because if only he had waited, he would have known... if only he had waited, the colours would have shone their brightest around Jaskier, like they did now. If only he had waited and not left him, again and again and again, he would not have seen so many others, and would have realized sooner. But now he was left waiting for a response, because he wanted to rush and to fix things <em>now</em>, but knew he’d make a mess of this if he did not tread lightly. He had undone something that was meant to be bound by the threads of destiny itself, and in doing so, pissed it off so that his mistake then be irreversible.</p><p>He had rushed away when he met <em>him</em>, and then rushed forward when he met <em>her</em>. It was only fair that he be punished to sit, to implement <em>patience</em>, as he waited to apologise, then to seek forgiveness.</p><p>Jaskier cleared his throat, and it was then that Geralt sniffed, then inhaled deeply to truly take in the absolute sorrow, the pain that was ingrained into his scent like a stain that would never come out. It was an ache that went through to the Bard’s bones, rooted there like a deteriorating disease. It took him only a second longer to see that he was crying, too. Quietly, trying to hide it, as if embarrassed; afraid to let it show and grow tumultuous.</p><p>“I miss the sky, Geralt.” Jaskier whimpered, and Melitele be damned if those words didn’t cut into the Witcher’s heart, lacerating every last bit of pride and esteem he may hold for himself, the gashes running deeper than any violet glare on any mountainside ever could. He was ultimately, officially the scum of the earth, now more than he ever was before. “And I miss grass and flowers, and shopping... So many little things that I took for granted and yet marveled at the same time. I miss the thrill of picking my outfits, comparing texture to colour and finding what would match with you, what would bring out my eyes, what would get me attention while I performed... I felt <em>elegant</em>. Oh, and watching the sunsets!”</p><p>For a moment, a smile almost darted across Jaskier’s face, but it was fond from nostalgia, and quickly turned sour when he realized again what had been stolen away, like a bankrupt lord describing the balls and feasts he once had the riches to host.</p><p>He scrubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, reddening the skin there in a useless attempt to stop the tears. “How we traveled, Geralt, seeing the world, I had it all! I really did, I got to watch things change every day, I got to see the hues of clouds shift from gold, to orange and red and then to deeper, darker shades worthy of ominous stories. And I got to see your eyes. <em>Oh</em>…”</p><p>Geralt thought he would break there, and sat forward on the edge of his seat, gritting his jaw and his fists with self-directed rage. Ready to scoop him up into his arms.</p><p>“You know, you don’t wear a lot of colours – I mean, I wouldn’t know, it’s been... almost a decade since I’ve seen them. But still, your eyes… your eyes, Geralt, they were the first thing I saw. And they were just…”</p><p>Jaskier clenched a fist in the front of his hair, pulling at the roots, pulling it over his eyes. He hid. “They were my absolute <em>favourite</em>. They were so, <em>so</em> beautiful. I should have told you. If I had praised you in more ways than I did, if I had – if you had listened to the songs I wrote for you, if I had <em>told</em> you, you would have known...”</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt swiftly reached a hand out, snatching the fingers knotted in that lovely brunette hair into his own grip, and practically growled. “This is <em>not</em> your fault. None of it was your fault. You were… you <em>are</em> my soulmate, and I fucked that up. I fucked with destiny, and it fucked me back. You just got caught in the middle. And I never, never in my life would have <em>really </em>wished that upon you, and if I could redo it I would, if I could trade places with you, it would be done.”</p><p>Sniffling, the Bard wiped his nose on his sleeve with not a care for what snot smeared on the fabric. Glassy, unshed tears continued to spill down his face in messy rivulets. He looked terrible, but that had never mattered to Geralt. Terrible had never looked so good at the best of times, and now, when he was broken and caring not to piece himself back together, Geralt didn’t look away. He stared straight at him, absorbing it all, looking at the destruction <em>he</em> caused, searching for the cracks and creases to fix and flatten.</p><p>“Jaskier.” He could say his name, over and over, and it would never tire, never sour on his tongue. When Geralt spoke the syllables, they felt scarlet. Rich, rosy, energetic, fierce. He asked for a gesture, but pleaded for mercy, not only to see but to be seen.  “Please, look at me.”</p><p>Jaskier did not. He shook his head, words choking in his throat and halting him, so that all he may do was shake. Geralt tried again, begging with a pull of his heart, holding his hand tighter. “Come outside. It is still daylight.”</p><p>At last, fighting seemed to take too much. Jaskier gave in, wilting as he rose like a flower not ready to stand on its own. He let Geralt lead him outside, turning his pinkened face from the other patrons of the tavern, who were honestly entirely unsuspecting of the whole situation.</p><p>The Witcher wasn’t good with words. Every time he tried to be, it came out <em>feeling</em> forced, let alone the sound of it. He choked on something as simple as a pattern of breath and speech, when his mind didn’t work efficiently enough, couldn’t keep up with rising emotion that he had grown so used to having nothing to do with. So now, with his heart hammering and his nostrils flaring, eyes darting about as he gripped Jaskier’s hand as tightly as he would allow without hurting him, he tried to process. He tried to breathe, to slow down and really <em>look </em>around them. He forced himself to take it all in, what he saw and felt and the scents that came with it.</p><p>There was no resistance as he led Jaskier away from the tavern, away from the noise of people and towards the softer sounds of birds that spilled forth from the tree line. From here, it almost looked like Upper Posada, where they had first met. Geralt wondered what it would look like if he went back now, years later, what colours and hues he would find from that place where he first saw his Bard…</p><p>He started with that, slowly, the words coming out as he thought of them, a steady rumble. His tone was hesitant, awkward, almost embarrassed. But damn if he wasn’t trying. “It looks like Posada, here. The grass… It’s dark, but not unhealthy. This green is rich. I think it was lighter there, probably closer to brown.”</p><p>Jaskier shuffled beside him, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. While his hand remained tenderly held in Geralt’s, the Witcher feared that his Bard was still not there. A gentle tug brought him closer, so that their shoulders grazed, the touch sending prickles across Geralt’s skin, electrified with the apprehension nestled deeply in his movements. With Jaskier’s profile still to him, eyes staring but not searching the horizon before them, Geralt faced forwards.</p><p>“The sky, out there where the sun still is, is lighter than the rest. A really faint blue, like spring water.” Using his free gloved hand to point, Geralt traced the edges of mountains, brushing aside clouds, as if revealing the scenery itself. “And as it gets farther away, directly above or behind us, it gets darker, much darker. Here is… like a sapphire. And behind us is indigo, almost violet.”</p><p>Movement at his side indicated that Jaskier had stepped closer. He had stopped fidgeting, instead standing still and silent. He briefly wiped his nose, sniffling dryly.</p><p>Clearing his throat, something momentarily caught there to roughen his voice, Geralt pointed upwards. “The clouds that are higher up, those… wispy ones, are gold, like a pale tan. Like… regular sunlight, during the day. And the bigger ones, further down, would be storm clouds if they had crowded together. Those are a dark lavender, except for the very tips. Those are red. And where the sun is just setting… hm.” Geralt stopped when out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jaskier lift his head.</p><p>He was looking at the clouds, trembling where he stood as tears once again flowed freely down his cheeks, moisture dotting where the droplets themselves were gone. Geralt abandoned the sunset, abandoned the horizon and turned the Bard to face him, grimacing when Jaskier lowered his gaze to look away. Hiding.</p><p>Geralt took his chin in his hand, carefully directing it upwards, to be level with his. To look at him.</p><p>He stared. There were crinkles around Jaskier’s eyes where his cheeks rose up, matching his sniffles and squinting back tears as they gathered at the brim. There was reflective quality to them, and if the Witcher looked closely enough, he would see himself.</p><p>“Your eyes… the middle is like the light blue out there, near the sunlight. With a little bit of green. And the edge, is like what’s behind us. The darker blue, so dark it’s almost green as well…” Geralt was well aware of the sound of his voice, how strange it felt to say these words. But he had heard Jaskier’s songs, he had read poetry… He knew description. It was hard, because he liked it when the world was simple.</p><p>But whatever this was, whatever <em>this</em> was, it was not simple. This was complicated, strange and brought upon them by forces out of their control. If he was going to understand, and make this right, he had to take on the challenge. Geralt sighed softly, gently and drawn out. “I don’t go to the ocean much. I’ve only cared to see it a few times. But when you offered to go to the coast, I immediately thought of this. Your…”</p><p>He didn’t have time to finish, didn’t get the chance to say <em>eyes, </em>because then Jaskier collapsed onto him. His hand tore free from Geralt’s, as both went to grip the front of his cuirass, his forehead resting plainly against his chest. He had cried in the tavern and was crying here, crying now, and Geralt could only imagine the absolute <em>headache</em> he must have, the headache the Witcher himself must be to him. The guilt that had been coiled at the bottom of his heart suddenly flared up, sending his arms into motion to wrap tightly around his Bard on an instinct pure and protective. Slowly, fingers threaded into Jaskier’s dark hair to tilt his head, so that it may rest, tucked safely against his neck. He felt the Bard’s tears on his skin.</p><p>But he wasn’t finished, not yet. Geralt rubbed his nose into Jaskier’s brunette curls, inhaling slowly to take in what he could; honeysuckle, spring water, freshly shorn grass… fresh, lively things that promised warmer, brighter seasons. Things that were found outside, on grand adventures despite being delicate and lovely, but could also be found in and around cities, towns that treasured its beauty just as much as nature would. And of course, beneath all this, that sour, persistent stench of sorrow. <em>Loneliness, in particular</em>. It had faded much since they left the tavern, but Geralt wasn’t sure yet if that was attributable to his presence. An isolated, corrupting, deprecating scent, the remaining existence of it made Geralt scowl at himself, keeping quiet as he accidentally growled in Jaskier’s ear.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” were the two words formed by the rumble. They rose again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m… sorry. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You never said anything, not until now…” Jaskier sobbed, but no longer small and shriveled. It was out in the open now, all cards on the table, his heart on his sleeve moreso than it ever had been. “Will you… keep saying nice things? Are you staying to tell me about them?”</p><p><em>Them</em>. The colours. Geralt nodded, holding him close, holding him as he felt the forgiveness in their embrace. “Yes. If we cannot find a way – until we find a way, somehow to right this, I will tell you of anything you wish me to describe.”</p><p>It was a monumental transition, he knew. He could feel it, like an earthquake buzzing in his chest and his head, splitting things open and closing others up, absorbing them and shifting and just so much <em>change</em>. And yet, this was how he knew. Holding anyone, anything other than his soulmate had never felt this way before, and destiny be damned, Geralt watched the sun set.</p><p>“You’ll have to help me pick out my clothes from now on. Whatever I’ve been doing clearly hasn’t been working.” His crying now died down, Jaskier began speaking again. He tried slowly at first, but something about their closeness and the cathartic release had warmed him. He was ready to talk, to restart and begin healing.</p><p>“Of course, I’ll… do anything you ask.”</p><p>“Then… Stay with me now, Geralt, please? For I have <em>always</em> loved you more than those words could mean. That was the reality of it, the colours… They’re only symbolic. Like a metaphor. You changed my life when I met you, for the better.” Jaskier took a deep breath, a quivering one that trembled with his body, but steadied his face so that he may smile a little. “The picture of it is gone now, but the point was that we were supposed to share this world in all it’s beauty together. And… most of all, I wanted to make you happy. Just – always.”</p><p>Geralt nodded, brushing a playful cluster of the Bard’s brunette curls back from his face. “Yes, this is… this is good. This is right, and… I feel the same. By… trying, and learning to tell you what I see, perhaps we will share in it more intimately than we had in the past.” He looked down, ashamed. “I’m sorry for not asking about what I saw, for not talking about the… colours. You would have known.”</p><p>“There is no point in dwelling on a past we can’t change, my dear Witcher. If an opportunity comes to allow me to see them for myself again, I wholeheartedly expect us to take it, only because we’re reckless and strong and that’s what we <em>should</em> do.” He laughed, a chuckle that seemed to brighten the hues around them tenfold. “Consider it another adventure, because the colours... were never the real treasure. The real goal. It was you, Geralt. You have always been the most important thing. So, in the meantime… All we can do is move on from here, growing to become the soulmates we were quite literally destined to be. You won’t rid of me that easily.”</p><p>“Good. I don’t want to be rid of you.”</p><p>He watched the last traces of blue fade from the sky as the day would finally come to a close, but Geralt knew also that this meant putting more than just a sunset behind them. He knew with the coming morning that there would be more things to describe, new sights to be seen… but this time, <em>this time</em> for sure, Jaskier would be at his side. Where he was supposed to be all along.</p><p>“Come along, can we sit? I feel like we have a lot to talk about…” Breaking him from his pondering, Jaskier took Geralt’s hand, leading him to one of the small tables that sat outside the tavern they had left, the surface weathered and warped. And the Bard continued to hold his hand even as they sat opposite each other, brushing one calloused thumb gently over gloved, scarred knuckles. “Let’s start with Yennefer, that gorgeous witch she is. Have you talked to her? Because I was thinking, well, next time we run into her, we should probably see what she wants us to do…”</p><p>Geralt listened, and he watched, and he joined in the conversation. He tried his best to participate, to contribute meaningfully, all the while trying to offer ideas that could help them grow from this. Jaskier was right, as he always was when he saw the silver lining. The only thing they could do was improve from here, they could every day grow closer and make the most of what they had, in the world they had.</p><p>And that way, even when the sun set at the end of each day, and the soft blues that brought so much comfort and spirit in the sky faded, that blue would still be captured in Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt would see it forever, and he would share it truly, eternally, for as long as he may, with the one who gave him such a gift by matching his soul.</p><p>“Hey, Geralt, still listening?” Jaskier smiled patiently, now holding both of the Witcher’s hands in his own, centered on the table. The far set sun cast a warm orange glow across his skin, bringing out a playful, joyous sparkle in his eye. Everything was going to be okay.</p><p>“I am. I think that’s good. We can go North for the rest of summer and… if we run into Yen, we can ask her what she wants to do.” He nodded to himself, looking down at their hands, so glad to see them together at long last. “I think… once she sees that we’re… together, she’ll feel free of us. She’ll get to be on her own, like I meant…”</p><p>“If I may ask,” the Bard tilted his head, no longer any hurt or malice, pity or spite in his voice. Just curious, light, pure and wondrous Jaskier. “What was your wish? What did you even want? Because I never stopped feeling for you, I never stopped believing that we were made for each other, so it can’t have changed the fact that we were really meant for each other, like pieces of a puzzle, you know? One of us, our actual shape would’ve had to change, and that didn’t happen at all, so you can’t have asked to… you know, <em>not</em> have me. I never thought that, deep down I never really did.”</p><p>Geralt cleared his throat, glad at how much Jaskier was sharing and contemplating with him. Hearing the Bard’s thoughts out loud helped him sort through things as well. It felt nice, cooperative, <em>good</em>. “I said ‘I wish to share these colours with Yennefer’. I just… I didn’t want to switch soulmates, I didn’t mean to… change anything with you, and I didn’t know it <em>was</em> you. I should have, though, because I never really tired of you, however tiresome you may be. I just wanted her to see them. I thought it would make her happy, to see something… pretty.”</p><p>Quiet for a moment, Jaskier looked away. “Huh. Well… You know what I think came from all this?”</p><p>Geralt bristled, just a little, almost pulling his hands away. His eyes widened, afraid of what was to come. “What? What do you think? I…” A preemptive apology held still on his lips.</p><p>And then Jaskier smiled, bright and beautiful, and faced him again, squeezing his hands like the mirth that pinched the corners of his eyes. “I think djinns are bastards. Fuck ‘em. What do you say, gorgeous? Handsome, fetching soulmate of mine?”</p><p>“Oh.” He laughed, Geralt blushed, and <em>laughed</em>, and it was good. He felt light, better, just in general… happy. This was what he was meant to find, this was what he was here to take. This was his soulmate, through and through, and he felt it more with each passing moment. Even as the light faded and he paused to decide that they should turn in for the night, he felt the end of the day fade to suggest something grander, something more to come with the rising sun.</p><p>“Yeah. Fuck ‘em.” And saying the words aloud only made him laugh again, this time joined by Jaskier’s chiming giggles. It was a lovely compliment, made only to match and to harmonize.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter Summary; Lyrics from "The Messenger" by Linkin Park!!<br/>I know this was not the ending many of you were expecting, but I hope it was something. I didn't want to be overtly cliche and have this chapter be the action of reversing the wish; also - I have mentioned many times that it is irreversible. But perhaps it is not?</p><p>Leaving it open-ended leaves the depth of their healing, the method by which they go about it, and how they face this new world together up to your interpretation, as the audience. If you think this is sufficient, then that's okay. If you believe they will continue to have tough conversations, with Geralt being more open, and overall grow stronger from this struggle, that's good as well. Or, if you think Geralt, even in his obliviousness, is unforgivable, then that's also up to you and you're allowed to think that. This ending leaves space for YOU to decide what you want, while wrapping it up nicely for myself and for those who are just ready to wash their hands of this angst. </p><p>Also, this perhaps leaves room for me to write some epilogue chapters should I desire to, and should you want it!! They /did/ mention going to talk to Yen, and as Jaskier said, should they come across an opportunity, they could take it.</p><p>All in all, I don't write angst very much. I also don't write many multichapters; so I say a big thanks to everyone who stuck with me for this one!! It took a lot more time than I intended, a lot of editing and a lot of sleepless nights to get this thing going and good, and I'm glad I got to share it with you all!!</p><p>Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you all have a lovely day and stay safe. Feel free to hit me up on Social Media, Twitter @thirthfloor and Tumblr @aegir-emblem!!</p>
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